


Tool of the Trade

by Politzania



Series: Misc Prompts and Ficlets [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 21:00:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Politzania/pseuds/Politzania
Summary: Natasha contemplates a tool of her trade before embarking on her first  mission.





	Tool of the Trade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [celtic7irish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/celtic7irish/gifts).



> This was my first fic for the WinterIron Discord Key Exchange - I was given the word "garrote".

It was a simple tool; but effective. A half-meter or so of sturdy wire, with small, textured handles on either end. Easy to stow in a pocket or pouch, and when used properly, it was nearly silent, mostly bloodless, and never needed reloading. 

But it did require focus. If they could still speak (or scream), the wire had been misplaced or wasn’t pulled tight enough. If you hadn’t been fast enough, if they’d gotten fingers or a hand up in defense, it was best to try another tactic, as the element of surprise had been lost.

Surprise was absolutely the key in using this method. The shock of finding one’s breath suddenly cut off, combined with the sharp pain of a ligature cutting into one's neck made it difficult at best to react effectively. Nearly everyone scrabbled uselessly at their throat; only a few could collect their wits enough to go after their attacker. 

Leverage was also important, particularly when one’s opponent was both larger and stronger than you, as they so often were. Crossed arms and a knee between the shoulder blades was quite effective, as was putting all of your weight behind the pull. Toppling them off balance worked only if you were willing to go to ground with your opponent. 

Patience and tenacity were additional vital qualities. Waiting for your opponent to succumb took longer than she had expected. You also had to endure the attempted countermeasures; being slammed into a wall by an opponent twice your mass makes it hard to concentrate on maintaining the pressure and torque needed for a successful strangulation. 

Nevertheless, she had been taught well: viewing the demonstrations on live subjects, then practicing on dummies, before training with instructors fitted with protective collars. But the final lesson, one that not every student passed, was to switch roles; to know what it meant to be the victim. You were allowed to fight back, of course, albeit without weapons. Seeing who she’d been matched with, her one thought was: it wasn’t fair. But nothing in the Red Room ever was. 

She wore the bruises for weeks, and was unable to speak other in hoarse gasps for two days; nonetheless, she had been deemed worthy to continue her training. A few classmates (now former classmates) had not been so lucky. She never expected mercy from any of her instructors; but there was the occasional flicker of emotion, of personality. He, on the other hand, had no personal grudges, no favorites. Much like his namesake; he was cold and unforgiving, with a certain beauty about him. But she had no time for further reflection. She gathered the rest of her equipment and went to report for her first assignment as a Black Widow.


End file.
